


laid beside you and pulled you close (and the two of us went up in smoke)

by thegraystreaks



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: Angst, F/M, Pre-Relationship, TLO, but i have plenty of feelings, fight me, i know rick doesn't write feelings much, missing moment, percy deserved a moment to come to terms with the prophecy, so here they are for your entertainment, sorry i'm so emo about percabeth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:22:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24637516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraystreaks/pseuds/thegraystreaks
Summary: The two sit in silence on the pier, the air hanging heavy with the thought of what the next few days may bring. But then her fingers slip into his and she gives his hand a gentle squeeze. As Percy glances up at her, he realizes the crushing weight he’d felt in his chest while walking through the camp has eased up, if only slightly. At least she’s here, he thinks. At least I’m not alone.- or -Percy's just a kid. A kid who just learned that he is destined to get his stupid soul reaped in a week. Naturally, he can't sleep.
Relationships: Annabeth Chase/Percy Jackson
Comments: 16
Kudos: 225





	laid beside you and pulled you close (and the two of us went up in smoke)

**Author's Note:**

> This is set during The Last Olympian on the night that Percy reads the full prophecy. 
> 
> I am a long-time reader of fic across many fandoms, but I have never written one until now. I was rereading the series and I just needed Percy to have a moment to grieve, and to not be alone. But Rick didn't give that to me, so I made it myself.
> 
> Any comments, kudos, etc are very much appreciated!

Percy can’t sleep. After an hour or so of staring at the ceiling, trying to think of anything besides Beckendorf’s hand reaching towards his watch, or Silena’s heartbroken crying, or the _stupid_ rolled up sheet of paper still in the pocket of the pants that are crumpled on the cabin floor, he gets up with a sigh and steps into a pair of shorts. Grabbing a hoodie by the door, he steps out into the cool night air. The moon illuminates Camp Half Blood, but it feels eerie without campers running around. 

Percy begins to wander aimlessly. He doesn’t know quite where he’s going, but at the moment, any place would be better than the empty cabin that marks him as the son of Poseidon, sealing him into a destiny he doesn’t want to think about. His feet carry him past the amphitheater, and a voice in his head wonders how many more nightly sing-alongs he has left. _Shut up_ , he tells it as he moves along.

The lines of the prophecy repeat in his head, over and over: _the hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap_. And a choice that will end his days? Percy doesn’t have to be an Oracle to figure that one out. Annabeth’s words come to mind - _‘prophecies always have double meanings’_ \- but they offer him no comfort.

Gods, Annabeth. This whole time, she knew. Anger rose in his chest. How often did she watch him with pity as he went about his day at camp, playing capture the flag or running around with Mrs. O’Leary, completely unaware of what was coming? In a burst of fury, he kicks at a rock in his path and watches as it tumbles ahead. It rolls to a stop, and he lets out a sigh. As much as he doesn’t want to, he understands why the details of the prophecy weren’t shared with him until it became necessary. The anger fades as quickly as it had come, and all he’s left with is a mounting sense of hopelessness. 

Everywhere he turns, a memory surfaces, and with it, the crushing thought that there may not be more memories to be made. Getting his arm hairs singed off on the climbing wall, missing an archery target by at least a foot and nearly taking Grover out as a result, wiping out the competition in chariot races with the help of Annabeth and Tyson...and then he thinks of his mom in their apartment back in the city, and he’s horrified to feel the prickle of tears behind his eyes. He shakes his head furiously to clear the thought from his mind, but it feels like a lead weight is sitting on his chest.

He looks up and finds himself walking out to the end of the pier on the canoe lake. Right as he sits down on the edge, a familiar voice whispers from his left side. “How did you know I was out here?” Percy lets out a strangled yelp, nearly falling into the water. A hand he can’t see grabs his arm and yanks him upright. Annabeth materializes beside him, snickering as she pulls off her Yankees cap.

“I didn’t,” Percy wheezes. “Gods, Annabeth, you could warn a guy.” 

“Can’t sleep?”

“Too much to think about.”

“Seaweed Brain? Thinking? This ought to be good,” she teases, but there’s no edge to her voice. Even in the dim moonlight, Percy can see that her smile doesn’t reach her red-rimmed eyes. She’s been crying, he realizes. He wonders if she’s been thinking about the same things that he has. 

“Yeah, well, there’s a Titan Lord coming to destroy Olympus and ‘end my days’. Makes sleeping a little more difficult than usual.” Her breath catches, and he immediately regrets opening his big, stupid mouth.

“Percy, I --”

“Forget it. I shouldn’t have brought it up.” She wipes at her eyes, and Percy feels like an idiot. He’s only making things worse.

The two sit in silence on the pier, the air hanging heavy with the thought of what the next few days may bring. But then her fingers slip into his and she gives his hand a gentle squeeze. As Percy glances up at her, he realizes the crushing weight he’d felt in his chest while walking through the camp has eased up, if only slightly. _At least she’s here_ , he thinks. _At least I’m not alone_. 

A few moments pass, and Annabeth gets up to leave. “I should probably get to bed,” she says hesitantly. “Early morning tomorrow.”

A wave of panic washes over Percy. She can’t leave. He _needs_ her, needs her to ease the pain of the iron fist clutching at his heart. “Annabeth, wait, I-- would you stay? And just...sit with me?” His voice cracks, but he feels so overwhelmed at the thought of her leaving, of being alone with his thoughts, that he can’t even bring himself to be embarrassed. 

He half-expects an excuse or or a sarcastic comment. Instead, he hears a soft, “Yeah, okay.” 

She slowly sinks back down, and they end up leaning on each other, his arm around her shoulders, her head resting in the crook of his neck. They sit and stare out onto the lake, listening to the waves gently lapping at the shore, the song of the frogs and the crickets.

He thinks about Calypso and Luke, about Rachel Elizabeth Dare and his dumb fate, and about how none of it seems to matter right now, not one bit, not when Annabeth is sitting next to him, tucked under his arm. 

He thinks of her - the soft curl of her hair, the way he has seen her gray eyes flash with intensity and soften with laughter. Her sharp wit, the soaring feeling he gets when she smiles at him or laughs at his dumb jokes. Her unending loyalty. The fierce look on her face right before she kissed him on Mount St. Helens.

So many unspoken words seem to float between them. How easy it would be, he thinks, to turn his face to her and kiss her. To pour everything he needed to say to her, the years of friendship that have formed into something else entirely, the emotions and confusion that have all been piling up, into one charged embrace. He could tell her how he feels, and maybe -- 

Maybe what? He turns sixteen in a week. How incredibly selfish, he thinks, would it be to tell her how he feels, to hope she feels the same? To tether her to a sinking ship? What could he possibly hope to give her? A relationship with an expiration date? They both know what’s coming. In the end, how much more pain would he be putting her through?

 _No_ , he decides. He won’t hurt her any more than he can help. This moment right here is enough. _It has to be_ , he tells himself. This moment is for him. A chance to choose how he’ll remember her. To grieve what could have been. 

He’s never been in love before. He’s just a kid. But right now, he thinks of what might’ve happened if it weren’t for the upcoming war and his most likely unavoidable death. He thinks of telling her how he feels, and her saying she feels the same. Warmth explodes in his chest. He pictures picnics on Half-Blood Hill, long drives down the shore of the Long Island Sound, library dates and movie nights. He imagines a perfect kiss. Not a goodbye kiss, not a rushed kiss before she disappears and he causes a volcanic explosion, but something slower, sweeter, more intimate. Something that says, _we’ve got all the time in the world_. And the idea that he could fall in love with this girl doesn’t seem far off at all. It seems almost...easy.

Annabeth shifts against him and Percy is jolted back to the present. They don’t have a perfect future. But they have right now. And that’s enough. He takes time to breathe it in. Her soft curls splayed across his arm, the sweet smell of her shampoo, the warmth radiating off of her, the feel of her head on his shoulder. The safety he feels with her. 

He doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring. He doesn’t know how one summer camp of teenagers could possibly manage to defend Olympus from a Titan army. But right now, he knows Annabeth is with him, and that she will stand by him until the end. He lets himself forget everything else and fall into the comfort of her. They sit on the pier until their eyes begin to droop, and they don’t get up until sleep almost overtakes them. When they finally head back to the cabins, they walk hand in hand.

  
  



End file.
